


If It's Not With Me

by AndreaLyn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz isn't jealous. No way, absolutely not, and if he were, it's not because of Smith's stupid handsome face or his ability to cook, it's because he's stealing his partner away from important work. At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It's Not With Me

When Fitz gets to the lab one fine Saturday evening to do the equipment maintenance for the month, he’s got two sandwiches in hand, a couple of beers, and few plans whatsoever to speak of. “Simmons,” he calls out triumphantly, setting down the conquests of his valiant trek to the fridge and searching around the lab for where she could be hiding. They’re grounded in order for Grant to attend some refresher course on how to break necks in ninety seconds or how to live a human life with a robot’s brain or something, which means downtime for all.

Except that apparently downtime is turning into a scavenger hunt.

“Simmons?” he shouts.

“She’s not here.” 

Fitz does his best not to jump out of his shoes at May’s cool reply, since she’s come out of absolutely _nowhere_. Equipped with nothing but his fast-beating heart and a desperate will to not do anything ridiculous in front of the Cavalry, he takes in a shaky heart. “Where would she have gone?” he asks. He’s had his nose deep in a few projects lately and true, he hasn’t kept as close an eye on things as he should have, but really, he would’ve noticed if Simmons just ran off. He tends to notice her, after all, possibly more than one should notice their very attractive, insanely intelligent partner.

Right, Simmons, where is she?

At least Fitz has the wherewithal to notice Skye when she slinks around the corner to join this conversation as if she hasn’t been invited and that’s the only reason she’s not in it. “Don’t you remember?” she says.

If Fitz remembered, then he wouldn’t very well be asking where she was, now would he?

“Remember what?”

“She has that science date with Doctor Hot,” Skye says with a lascivious grin.

“There’s no one at SHIELD with the surname Hot,” Fitz pedantically informs her, aware that Skye isn’t talking about anyone’s actual name, but he’d rather focus on the specifics than the fact that Simmons has apparently chosen science with someone else over him. He’s supposed to be her science buddy and even if she was unearthing him for someone else, the decent thing to do is to tell him that he’s been replaced. None of this sits well with him at all. “What, him?” he asks, when he realises who Simmons has gone off with. “Ugh, he’s a _biologist_ ,” he complains. “She’s going to come back talking about all sorts of disgusting things,” he says, undoing his kit to get out his equipment maintenance tools. “The last time she went off with someone from another discipline, there were eyeballs in the fridge when I got back.” He gesticulates wildly to his face. “Eyeballs, the sort of ball you use for seeing!”

“We know what eyeballs are, Fitz,” May calmly assures him.

Skye gestures to hers, widening them with her fingers. “See? Mine are observing how stupid you’re being over Simmons,” she says, opening her mouth wide to match the eyes.

“You look like an ugly fish,” Fitz says bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest and not thinking about how childish he’s being in all this. “Fine, I suppose I’ll do the maintenance on my own without any help. See how she likes it when everything breaks on her because I wasn’t equipped with the manpower to do this correctly.”

May and Skye share a bemused smile, patting Fitz on each shoulder on their way out.

God, he hates doing maintenance on his own.

He hopes that whatever ridiculous experiment they’re in the midst of is worth it.

* * *

“Seriously,” Skye says, chin in her hands as she stares dreamily at the hangar bay where Simmons is saying goodbye to Doctor Smith before he heads back to the office. Simmons is clutching a glass test tube filled with what appears to be a suckling pig as though it’s a love letter that ought to be clutched to her heart. “If she doesn’t want him, I do.”

Fitz very well may throw up if that thing comes into the lab.

Ward glances over from where he’s unloading the latest shipment of weapons. “He’s not that good looking,” is his opinion.

“Uh, are you serious?” Skye scoffs. “He’s tall, he definitely works out, and those curls are gorgeous,” she praises, while Fitz raises a self-conscious hand to his own, wondering why Skye hasn’t noticed their worth. “Plus, he’s got a PhD, which means he’s brainy and Simmons says he likes to cook.”

Wait, how would she know that?

“I don’t give a damn what he looks like, he’s probably talking about Enzyme Theory in alien physiologies with her!” Fitz sputters, pointing accusingly in their direction. “She’s meant to be discussing that theory with me! We’re going to write a paper on it and Doctor _Curls_ isn’t allowed on the front page,” he says bitterly. He feels like there’s something acidic sitting in his chest and burning its’ way up from the inside and he doesn’t like it. “I’m going to work in the lab.” Never mind that it has glass doors and a clear view right down to where Simmons is hugging Doctor Smith goodbye, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Fitz averts his eyes the very moment she does that, not entirely sure why he feels so possessive of the wee touches she’s given to him and how they shouldn’t be replicated with anyone else.

The rest of the team finally disperse to get ready to get off the ground and he knows at some point Simmons is going to come back to talk to him and Fitz has to figure out what he’s going to say because right now, only sharp accusations sit on his tongue. 

It’s not her fault she’s gone off to talk to people in the same general discipline as her.

It’s hardly Doctor Smith’s fault he’s an intelligent man with theories to share.

And yet, and yet, Fitz hates the both of them a little right now because he feels excluded and terrible and _jealous_ and he’s never felt jealous before with Simmons because he’s always felt innately secure in her affections and attentions. This is the first time since they joined SHIELD that she’s ever done it right in front of his face. Not to mention Skye’s under the impression that there’s something more going on, which is not even feasible. 

Right?

No.

Not even a little bit. That’d be mad, that’d be crazy, who could actually sustain a long distance relationship when you’re always in the air and you hardly have any time on the ground and everything you do is classified. Fitz pokes despondently at a few buttons on the machines before him, trying to shake this mood to no avail.

“Fitz!” Simmons greets him brightly, cheerfully, like her time away from him has been refreshing or some other traitorous thing. “Alistair says hello.” She sets that horrifying pig in a jar down right in front of him, but Fitz does his furious best to ignore it for the topic at hand.

“Who now?”

“Doctor Alistair Smith?” she says, reaching for a hair tie to do her hair up in an efficient ponytail. “We were at the Academy with him! Don’t you remember? He’s the one we went out with the night you nearly got arrested for trying to rewire that terrible bar we’d found ourselves in.”

Fitz has a flash of a moment and then he remembers 18-year-old Alistair – gangly and awkward and nervous, hair a bit too greasy because he hadn’t had time to shower in between the exams and the research. He points out towards the slowly-closing door. “That’s Al?” he sputters. “But he’s...”

“Grown up?” Simmons suggests with a private smile. “Yes, he did do a bit of that. He says he works out with the field agents and it does wonders.”

She begins to putter around, putting things in the places she likes them, and leaving Fitz to wonder about whether he ought to start joining in on Ward’s sessions to get all buffed up and ripped and all those other things women seem to appreciate. “Are we going to be seeing more of Alistair?” he asks, avoiding her gaze as he asks the question.

“Why would we see more of him?”

“You’re not dating him?” he asks under his breath, pressing a great number of buttons that don’t actually need to be pressed on the guidance system for the dwarves. “Skye made a couple of comments that implied you and he were...” He looks up in time to see Simmons staring at him with confusion and it almost looks like she’s hurt that he’d ask something like that. “What?” he asks, defensive. “You two looked cozy.”

“Shut up, Fitz,” she says quietly, shaking her head. She looks around the lab and then shakes her head again with more vehemence. “I’m going to unpack in my cabin. When you’re not accusing me wildly of mad ideas, I’ll come back.”

“What did I _do_?” he asks himself when he’s alone.

Or rather, when he thinks he’s alone, because the response nearly makes him jump out of his ever-loving bloody _skin_.

“You know she totally spent all that time with Doctor Handsome talking about you, right?” 

“Skye, for god’s sake!” Fitz sputters. “You can’t just lurk like that!”

“Why not? Ward says it’s good practice in being covert!” Skye beams at him like she’s going to get a gold star for this, which is just absurd, especially given that Fitz had once asked for the very same thing and had been thoroughly rejected on that front. “Ward says he and Alistair are work-out buddies and they had a last session this morning and the guy you’re all worked up over was bitching about the fact that Simmons could _not_ shut up about you. Fitz this and Fitz that and oh, isn’t this an amazing thing that Fitz did?” Skye attempts her best Simmons impression, which is absolutely horrible and Simmons is probably off crying somewhere without even knowing why. “He could’ve been anyone,” she points out. “You’re the one important to her.”

Fitz keeps his head down and even though the words are having the intended effect, he’s not sure he wants that to show. “Should I start working out with the field agents, do you think?”

“Are you kidding?” Skye scoffs. “Ward already spends all our sessions trying not to put his head through a wall in frustration.” Her smile turns wicked. “So, absolutely, one hundred percent, yes.”

They share a smile and she heads off while Fitz tries to think of the best way to apologise for being a jealous ninny when apparently there was nothing to be jealous about – except, of course, the possibility of having to share his time with her. It’s selfish to want her to himself, he knows, but he can’t exactly stop feeling this way. God, why can’t feelings be as easily controlled as any of the machines he builds?

He takes a few minutes to put together a small token of apology in the form of completing the paperwork for the last few days and takes the folder in hand to her bunk, knocking lightly on the door and then not waiting a single second before heading inside. She’s staring out the window, running her fingers over the chain of her necklace in a consistent and repetitive manner. He drops down beside her, offering the folder out first before adjusting until they’re shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.

“Is this the paperwork for the last 0-8-4 that came in?” she asks.

“Done and dotted,” Fitz promises. “It’s my apology for jumping to conclusions with you and Allie. I don’t know why I said it, I suppose I just wanted...” He’d wanted some of the bitterness inside to come out despite how razor sharp it might be. No, this isn’t about what he wanted. “I was jealous you were off with some other scientist talking about our theories and the fact he looks like a more attractive version of me doesn’t exactly help,” he scowls.

Simmons turns to look at him, finally, and confusion practically blossoms on every feature of her face. “Alistair isn’t a better looking version of you,” she says. “Too many muscles,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I like my men around my height, but not that much heavier than me,” she says with a shake of her head. Then, like she’s realised she’s said something wrong, she goes absolutely still and silent.

“What?” Fitz demands.

“Nothing, Fitz,” she tries to assure him, but her voice is just a bit too high.

“What, like my height?” he asks as that flutter in his chest (something akin to hope) dares to eradicate the jealousy that had fought to get a stronghold. “You’d rather me than Alistair in his new, improved hunky form?”

“You know I always prefer you, Fitz,” Simmons confesses. 

While she could be talking about anything, Fitz knows by the way her tone softens just that much that she doesn’t just mean as friends or partners or coworkers. He’s not entirely sure when she started preferring him (because he does remember having to hear about her crushes and how she talked about those men and sometimes women endlessly until he wanted to...)

Is that how she’d spoken about him to Alistair?

Constantly, without end, praise heaped upon his every act (even the ones that don’t deserve it). “Are we talking about the preferring you do with your lips?” he blurts out, getting straight to the point on the off chance that he’s completely misinterpreted all of this.

“Yes, Fitz,” she laughs fondly. “The kind with lips.”

“Right now?” 

She shrugs, a look on her face that implies she hasn’t exactly thought this through. “I had hoped maybe you might take me on a date first,” she points out, wincing as if that might be too much to ask of him. She reaches over, sliding her fingers through his until their hands are interlaced comfortably. “They’ve just found some of the old Doctor Who lost episodes and I can’t think of a better way to watch them than to do it with you.”

And any other old day, the episodes would be the absolute highlight, but now that he knows there might be kissing (and possibly more) at the end of said date, Fitz is starting to rethink his priorities.

“So we’ll make it a date,” he says. “You, me, some episodes, and I’ll cook.”

“I always did so love your cooking. Best breakfast around,” she praises, squeezing his hand tightly. She lets go of him, grabs hold of the paperwork, and starts her shuffle to the end of the bed. Fitz watches her go in a daze, barely even registering when she comes back, leaning as absolutely far as she can so that she can press a tentative, thoughtful, promise of a kiss to his lips that begins gentle, but soon melts into something that has Fitz wanting to reach up and cup her face so she can’t go anywhere. Bursts of warmth rush through Fitz and he goes a bit lightheaded with she tugs on his lower lip as gently as possible, only to release it and him as she drifts back. “Maybe some of the lips part before the date,” she admits and Fitz openly gapes at the pink in her cheeks and how she keeps touching fingers to her lips. “I’ll see you in the lab? I promise I won’t dissect the pig in front of you.”

And right now, Fitz can’t even think about the pig or the lab or anything besides the way his heart is racing so absolutely, terrifyingly quickly.

“Oh,” he breathes out, possibilities blooming before him as the reality strikes that Simmons is still choosing him, over and over again, for everything. “Oh, my giddy aunt,” Fitz gets out elatedly, hurrying to follow after her as he plans to do for a good deal of time to come.


End file.
